I know when summer’s about played out when the “end of season” catalogues begin stuffing my mailbox. “Seventy percent reduction,” they scream. All the wonderful merchandise the shop couldn’t peddle during spring and summer (and some left over from last summer’s sales). There’s that suit I craved when I first laid eyes on it in the spring catalogue. “New for summer!” the headline blared. “Cool, well-styled, just the outfit for office-to-evening,” they promised. But, oh boy, it wasn’t cheap. Now it’s the perfect “transitional” suit – whatever that means – and the price is half what it was in the spring catalogues. I’m not biting. I’ve gotten this far without it; what’s a couple of months more.

Another catalogue that arrived yesterday was filled with merchandise for Halloween and, yes, Thanksgiving.

Another catalogue that arrived yesterday was filled with merchandise for Halloween and, yes, Thanksgiving. Oh, pul-eeze!! I’m sure the next one will be touting Christmas wares. Can’t we just enjoy the waning and still beach-worthy days of August without the constant reminders that time is marching on? I don’t know if I’ll even survive until Thanksgiving, let alone decorate my Thanksgiving table with themed placemats, napkins and centerpieces. Ugh!

In the interests of complete disclosure and truthfulness, I used to write advertising copy for a long-gone department store (remember those?). The challenge was to grab the attention of the newspaper reader (SALE! In 36 point letters would usually accomplish that) and then to convince them that this was an item he or she had to have. Oh, and everything had to fit in the space allocated by the evil layout designer, Helen. I still have my well-worn and thumbed through Roget’s Thesaurus. How many ways can you say “exquisite”?

And while I’m confessing my sins, I might as well tell you that I voraciously read out of town stores’ ads, magazine copy and even catalogues for bits and pieces I could use. My boss thought I was a creative genius. If only she knew….

I recognize the challenges faced by a catalogue copywriter and, really, I sympathize.

So I recognize the challenges faced by a catalogue copywriter and, really, I sympathize. But just as it was hard for me to gin up enthusiasm for Christmas copy in September, it must be murder for these poor hacks to rhapsodize over fall fashion sometime in April to make their mid-summer deadlines. If you’ve just walked two or three blocks to your cubbyhole (copywriters don’t get real offices) in the blazing heat of July, it’s darn nigh impossible to switch your gears to contemplate the wools of November. To write about ski gear in August, swimsuits in January and, gag, Christmas wreaths in September takes a very special kind of crazy. I know.

Check your personal stack of newly-arrived catalogues, though. Lurking amid all those incredible bargains and must-have merchandise, I hope you’ll find one that reads (in 18 point), “2018/19: A Stellar Season.” That’s doesn’t qualify as a “screamer,” as we say in the trade, but I hope it speaks to you. That’s the season offering of the San Antonio Chamber Music Society and the subscription form.

Lurking amid all those incredible bargains and must-have merchandise, I hope you’ll find one that reads (in 18 point), “2018/19: A Stellar Season.”

If you have to say goodbye to summer, what better way than starting off the concert season with the Brentano String Quartet plus soprano Dawn Upshaw on October 7? “Glittering clarity” is how The Strad described their music. Man! I wish I’d written that phrase!

The season gets better and better and, really, you won’t want to miss one concert. Just look:

Reverting to my copywriting days –Only $100 will buy a season ticket PLUS 1 bonus ticket that can be used at any concert!!! AND any ticket may be used for any of the 5 concerts!!! And students and active-duty military attend our concerts FREE!

Just call 210-408-1558 to reserve your season ticket or order online. I will recognize you, you know: you’ll be the one in the “transitional” outfit, right?

Don’t you just love it when a dignified, serious person makes a blunder? Com’on. Admit it. I mean as long as it’s not your surgeon who is doing some local-anesthesia work on your person. “Oops,” is the last word – possibly literally – you’ll want to hear. But nothing so dramatic here. I’m talking about dignified, professional, serious musicians. I collect these anecdotes and imagine others, so allow me to open my treasure chest of oops moments.

First, there’s the trumpet player. He’s doing wonderful things, finding tones, hitting every note with clarity and verve and then – wait for it – his mute gets away from him and goes rolling gleefully across the stage for all the world to see. Yes, there’ll be a few titters and giggles from the audience, but the musician, like the true professional he is, simply walks over and picks the damn thing up and carries on. Now that’s class.

And there’s not a cellist alive who hasn’t had a string break in the middle of a concert. Of course, if it’s one of the bass strings and goes ka-blooey, it can remove his glasses, scratch his face and cause a really awful moment. He can’t just carry on. He’ll just have to sit there or try to play on three strings or just forget the whole thing and walk off to find a replacement string.

…there’s not a cellist alive who hasn’t had a string break in the middle of a concert.

But here’s my own recurring nightmare: I’m a timpanist in a big, important orchestra with a grand and renowned conductor. Not permitted to thump the kettle drums or even rat-a-tat the snare, I am given the lowly triangle and told, sternly, to follow the music very carefully. This I diligently do. So there I am, standing up with my triangle shining elegantly in my left hand and my little wand in my right, counting carefully for my big moment. And I’m off by one beat. I’m off by one beat. It can’t be. I’m off by ONE lousy beat. And everybody, I mean everybody knows. The grand and renowned conductor shoots me a look that would knock a pigeon off an electric line and the timpanist standing next to me gently removes the elegant triangle from my hand so that I can do no further damage and I sit down and try to make myself as small as possible. It could have been worse, I guess: I could have dropped the triangle right into the horn in front of me. It could have been worse. It could have happened, and I’m just the person it would have happened to.

Of course, I am not a timpanist and I’ve never even been close to a triangle, but I was sufficiently musically embarrassed in my misspent youth to convince myself that I should find a career other than music performance. I was a member of a folk group – remember those? I know I’m dating myself, but really, it was a lot of fun. I was also working at a local television station, writing what is called “continuity.” That’s all the stuff that’s thrown in so that there is no dreaded “dead air.” Anyway, the lady who was host of the daytime show invited me to sing on her show, demonstrating the desperation daytime hosts feel when trying to fill a time slot. So, with my trusty Nuevo Laredo guitar in hand, I sat before the camera and launched into a piece I had done a million times. You may remember it, if you’re old enough: “In the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps tonight…” Well, the lyrics were pretty simple, the melody straightforward and I was on cruise control. Until I got to the end and the song (and Peter, Paul and Mary, if memory serves), launch into “Wee-mo-way, wee-mo-way.” So I launched into “Wee-mo-way,” but I couldn’t get un-launched. Panic set in. How am I going to end this? What comes next? So I tried to just kind of let my wobbly voice drift off into the void and bowed my head. It was a brief career, but brilliant.

I was sufficiently musically embarrassed in my misspent youth to convince myself that I should find a career other than music performance.

I have a friend who’s a clarinetist and had a reed break in the middle of Cole Porter. Of course, he had another reed, but there in front of the whole world had to extract it from his pocket, run it through his mouth a time or two and then install it in the clarinet. Maybe no one noticed, but I’ll bet they did.

I don’t think there’s a musician alive who hasn’t had an “oops” moment, and maybe they can laugh about them, but I’m certain that – just like my wee-mo-way moment – they’ve never forgotten them.

You’ve seen the drawings of Beethoven: unsmiling, looking somewhat suspicious of the world, hair that looks as though it has endured many years of mismanagement and finger-combing. He doesn’t really look like a happy man. His visage is just short of a scowl. This is the familiar Beethoven, but last Sunday (April 15, 2018) at the Orion String Quartet concert, there was a different Beethoven. I caught a glimpse of him, perched on the organ bench – and he was – wait for it – smiling. He was pleased at what he heard; he liked what the gentlemen of Orion had done with his String Quartet No. 14. Okay, he didn’t actually slap his knee, but he did tap his foot. Really.

So what did Orion do that made the master smile? Simple. They played the composition as it was intended to be played: with emotion, with soul-felt love for each beautiful note, with enthusiasm and joy for the complexities of the composition. (I’m reasonably certain that Sebastian Currier and Anton Dvořák were also enjoying this concert, perhaps perched on the crossbeams of this beautiful old church.)

I’m reasonably certain that Sebastian Currier and Anton Dvořák were also enjoying this concert, perhaps perched on the crossbeams of this beautiful old church.

Why is it that some groups do a perfectly workmanlike job of playing these wonderful musical compositions and others bring a special quality that goes beyond mere artistry to a profound understanding of the work and the ability to express the composer’s notes allowing the audience to rejoice with them? Well, that’s Orion. Thirty years together this group, so they communicate with one another on the level of performance DNA.

They take their name from Greek mythology. Orion the Hunter, Orion the Warrior, Orion which can be seen from almost any point on earth. The Quartet is cutting-edge in its interpretation of contemporary works (therefore, the sword) and muscular in its interpretation of the classics. The four gentlemen of Orion have been visible and praised in every corner of the world and their reputation gleams and glitters in the musical firmament. Besides performers, they are also teachers, generously passing their skills to a new generation of violinists, violists, cellists and string quartets.

We of the San Antonio Chamber Music Society are thankful that their light shone on us for one memorable Sunday afternoon and I am perfectly certain that Beethoven, Currier and Dvořák enjoyed the music, too!

And while we’re talking enjoying music, have a look at next season, the 76th. You will find music to enjoy, but only if you subscribe. The cost is the same, students and active duty military are still admitted free and I am certain that you will find some smile-worthy Sunday entertainment.

You could have spent last Sunday glued to the television and watching the Oscar hoopla – or you could have enjoyed some real talent at the American Brass Quintet concert. You could have paid homage to the little gold-plated statue at the Oscars – or you could have enjoyed some real, honest-to-goodness brass, learned something about canons (no, not the kind that fire cannon balls) and listened to music and poetry that go right to the heart. You could have.

Just in case someone stole your pickup truck with your favorite hound in it, or Aunt Mattie over in Floresville was stuck in a tree, or your flu had come back so bad you couldn’t raise your head from the pillow – just in case, you poor soul, you missed this concert, I’ll be kind and tell you what you missed:

First there’s just the sound, the Temple-filling, soul-filling sound of five brass instruments. Think about this: can you imagine what honey or molten gold would sound like if they could sound? Well, that’s what these five instruments in concert sounded like. The tones and the harmonies blended and then flowed separately, then blended again. You would have heard centuries’ worth of songs, music that would have been familiar to Queen Elizabeth I or King James I; music that would have been heard in old St. Petersburg; music that celebrates the common man and the joy of the everyday in the 20th century.

Can you imagine what honey or molten gold would sound like if they could sound? Well, that’s what these five instruments in concert sounded like.

And there was a special treat: music composed around a breathtakingly poignant poem by Carmen Tafolla, San Antonio’s own poet laureate. The poem spoke ever so simply and ever so eloquently of the river, our river and, as recited by the author, it would have just broken your heart. The music, composed by James Balentine, was equally simple and eloquent. Performed as it was by this particular group, the music spun out the story of the poem in a universal language of pure beauty. By the way, it was also a world premiere of the work and was commissioned for San Antonio’s 300th birthday. Take that, Hollywood!

And then the canons of the 16th century. Imagine the great castle halls and the cathedrals with this glorious music resounding in the vast spaces. Imagine the pleasure of following the musical lines through their twists and turns, counterpoints and harmonies, understanding the inherent structure where there seems to be none. How do they do that? I think it’s magic, pure and simple. Finally, the composition by American composer Eric Ewazen, a work dedicated to the American Brass Quintet on the occasion of their 30th anniversary, demonstrated the artistry and complete versatility of these five musicians. In three movements, the music went from languid to playful to joyous to sonorous. Pick your adverb; it was all of that and more.

Michael Powell, the ABQ trombonist, described brass players as “plumbers,” since their artistry depends on pipes and tubes and conduits, but I assure you that if the ABQ are plumbers, then I am in line for a Pulitzer. Just sayin’. No, these gentlemen, all teachers of the next generation of premiere artists, are truly brass masters. Don’t say I didn’t tell you…

In three movements, the music went from languid to playful to joyous to sonorous. Pick your adverb; it was all of that and more.

And don’t forget the last concert of this exceptional, sparkling season: the Orion String Quartet, a group that has become the standard of excellence in the world of chamber music, will perform April 15th at Laurel Heights United Methodist Church, 227 W. Woodlawn (corner Belknap). Buy Aunt Mattie a ladder and be there!

Bear with me, please: I’m off on yet another tangent and I ask your kind indulgence. The subject is trees. My dad loved his trees and I suppose, therefore, that there is something genetic about the love of trees because I love my trees, too.

Let’s talk about oak trees, those friendly stalwarts of the South Texas landscape. They live to an incredible old age and faithfully tolerate tire swings hung from limbs, small children climbing where their mother’s expressly forbade (as in, “Don’t you dare climb up that tree and if you do, I’ll kill you!”), the pure beauty of Christmas lights and piñatas and the indignity of generations of cats, squirrels, raccoons and dogs with a death wish clawing their way up the trunk. Standing close to an oak tree, you can’t help wonder how many people how long ago have enjoyed the beauty of this very tree. How many storms has it weathered, how many droughts have sent its roots ever deeper into the earth? How many generations of birds have called it home? This and more: have you ever noticed areas of worn bark about 4 feet up on oak trees? If the tree is very old, that comes from cows and horses rubbing against the tree, scratching what itches and smoothing the bark in the process.

Standing close to an oak tree, you can’t help wonder how many people how long ago have enjoyed the beauty of this very tree.

I grew up with oak trees and experienced their welcoming shade and shelter. There was no better place to be when one needed to ponder the deeply serious problems of adolescence than at the base of an oak tree. Being of Irish heritage, I was also pretty sure that “my oak trees” housed leprechauns in their roots. I remember that, during droughts, my dad would carry buckets of water from the barn to the trees to help them survive. In return, the oak trees gave my family never-failing beauty. Now I live in a neighborhood that was once an oak grove; this land was once on the banks of a creek and, historians say, was part of the ranch that was home to the vaqueros of the missions and their herds. There are huge oak trees lining our streets and gracing our yards and, yes, I’ve found the tell-tale signs of cattle and horses rubbing their imprints into the bark.

Developers tend to take down these wonderful, old trees and replace them with fast-growing intruders that can’t survive our climate for more than a few years. It will take much patience and probably many generations of homeowners to see the results of a new oak tree. That phrase doesn’t even look right; “new oak tree”? What’s that?

But I’m not done, you’ll be so very happy to know. Let’s talk laurels. We call them “mountain laurels” in these parts, but they have nothing whatsoever to do with mountains. Our treasured little laurel trees (aka, Sophora secundiflora) love our limestone-enriched soil and, with their wonderful flowers and scent, give us the hope of spring. My experience with laurels goes back a few generations (it’s the old DNA thing again). My grandmother planted laurels from seeds and nurtured them so that when I was a child, I knew them as a part of our home landscape. As an adult, I decided to buy a house on the basis of a 30-foot tall laurel growing in the front yard with a grove of her children nestled around her. (Did I mention that laurel trees are female?) I wasn’t as concerned about the stability of the home’s foundation or the beauty of its design, but it was love at first sight for that laurel tree. Years later, when I was terribly ill, I used to think that as long as that laurel tree was there to keep an eye on things, I would survive. It did and I did.

…when I was terribly ill, I used to think that as long as that laurel tree was there to keep an eye on things, I would survive. It did and I did.

There’s another feature of laurel trees that, if you didn’t grow up here, you may not know: laurel trees produce these beautiful bright red berries. They’re not edible – in fact, they’re poison – but if you are a mischievous child bent on revenge, you could take the berry, rub it vigorously on concrete (think sidewalk) and then apply it smartly to the arm of your big brother who had been bullying you. It burns like fury when properly prepared.

I haven’t even started on mesquite trees, pecans and chinaberries. Perhaps a later walk through the woods? But aren’t trees really incredible? Just think about it: shelter, beauty, sound, scent and a symbol of continuity and strength. Poems, music and art have all praised trees and with good reason: just like poems, music and art, trees are gifts to be treasured.

And speaking of treasures, there’s that music – you knew I’d get there, didn’t you? There are two glorious concerts remaining in this our 75th season: the American Brass Quintet (March 4th) and the Orion String Quartet (April 15th: at Laurel Heights United Methodist Church, don’t forget). We are not quite as old as my favorite oak trees, but with your continued support and attendance at these delightful concerts, we may just endure.

What can I say that hasn’t already been said about the fabulous Chanticleer. It is simply hard to believe that 12 men can produce the music, sounds, sheer entertainment that this group so ably can. I sincerely hope you were at the San Antonio Chamber Music Society’s January 21st presentation of Chanticleer. Only 500+ music lovers filled Temple Beth-El for this alternately moving, sentimental, humorous concert – and everyone left humming the encore presentation, “Bei mir bist du Schön.”

The true art of Chanticleer is the production of a musical fabric, in this case “Heart of a Soldier.” The first songs dated from the 14th Century to the 20th, and covered battle-connected poetry and songs created through all those ages. Chanticleer wove these into a fabric with voices blending and moving through scales of harmonies. As I listened, I realized that what Chanticleer was weaving was a tapestry: each thread with a voice, each voice with a color. The whole cloth told stories of praise, of fear, of reliance on a greater power and of comradery.

Chanticleer was weaving was a tapestry: each thread with a voice, each voice with a color.

Still keeping with their theme of soldiers’ hearts, the second half of the program moved into the 20th century with wartime popular music that (for some of us elders in the audience) brought back visions of the Andrews Sisters as well as of Peter, Paul and Mary. Their rendition of “My Buddy” tugged at my own memories of military funerals, red poppies in lapels and the solemn white markers at Arlington. “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” was a Vietnam-era song, so poignant in its simplicity and so meaningful to all the young men and young women who faced tragedy in those years. Chanticleer made a hymn to peace out of Pete Seeger’s pop song.

As we all knew, this was a concert that would be special – and indeed it was. It elicited a range of emotions just as the voices of these remarkable musicians created a range of harmonies. The fact that they were also performing in several languages simply attests to their skill. I hope you were there to enjoy this most remarkable vocal concert.

And don’t forget another concert that promises a wonderful afternoon of musical bliss: the American Brass Quintet performs for our 75th season March 4th at Temple Beth-El. Having experienced the magic of 12 incredible voices, you won’t want to miss the magic of these wizards of brass! Remember, you can use any ticket from this season’s concerts or bonus tickets for either the American Brass or Orion String Quartet on April 15th at Laurel Heights United Methodist Church. Hope to see you there!